


To The Victor Go The Spoils

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [29]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: After several weeks away from Melbourne, Phryne invites Jack to dinner, and Jack invites her to a game.





	To The Victor Go The Spoils

When the knock at the door came shortly after six, Phryne sprung from her place on the chaise to answer it herself, waving Mr. Butler away absently; he was preparing dinner, she knew, and the guest at the door was one she was quite happy to greet herself.

“Jack! You really don’t need to knock,” she scolded as she opened the door, laughing when he tilted his head and stepped inside.

“I didn’t know if you’d made it home,” he said as he removed his hat and coat, clearly trying not to give too much away. “You did leave quite late.”

Phryne rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been home an hour, and given the number of times you’ve reprimanded my driving, you can’t be surprised.”

“Just hopeful,” he replied dryly, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Which, really, would not do; she turned her head and raised a hand to cup his head, kissing him slow and sweet. When she pulled away, he smiled at her, his eyes so wonderfully soft.

“Welcome home, Miss Fisher.”

“Drink?” she asked.

He tilted his head once more and followed her through to the parlour, turning to close the door behind them. He took a seat on the chaise and angled his body towards her seat and watched her pouring two tumblers of whiskey, the beads of her gown catching the lamplight. He’d never quite been conceited enough to think she dressed with him in mind, but it was certainly _more_ than her usual dinner outfits; it seemed he was just conceited enough to suspect that she had, at the very least, missed him while she’d been away.

“Blackmailer arrested?” Jack asked, taking the drink she’d brought over.

“Both of them,” Phryne confirmed, “and one was the actual thief as well.”

“You have been busy,” he said, trying to hide a smile. “Are you prepared to astound me?”

She rolled her eyes.

“It was hardly a case requiring a detective inspector, if that soothes your wounded pride.”

“Definitely not.”

Phryne narrowed her eyes, trying to suss out whether he was being serious. It didn’t seem likely, but this case had been the first real prolonged investigation apart since they’d found their way together. She was not wholly unsurprised by the relief she felt when she saw the downturned twitch of his mouth as he tried to hide his smile.

“Very well,” she said imperiously, “where shall I begin?”

“The beginning is the classic starting point, Miss Fisher,” he said, leaning closer; so focused on his mouth, she was surprised by the brush of his fingers against her knee. It was almost embarrassing how much she’d missed his touch while she was gone; it wasn’t just the sex, but the easy intimacies in casual glances. Not that this was innocent--his fingers began a slow circle against her skin, just soft enough for gooseflesh to break out.

“Well, as you know, I was first contacted by Madeleine King last month, when the first letter arrived.”

“Letter?”

She arched an eyebrow at him; he knew perfectly well which letter she meant, which could only mean an ulterior motive.

“Yes, the letter accusing her of stealing a statue from her neighbour.”

“Oh,” Jack said, leaning in to whisper against her ear, “ _that_ letter.”

She bit her lip, catching herself before she moaned.

“Is there something wrong with your voice, inspector? You sound a little hoarse.”

“Merely overcome by your presence,” he murmured, and she snorted softly. His hand on her knee slid upwards, just a little, still tracing shapes. Circles, yes, but sudden loops and figure eights thrown in to distract her. She shifted subtly in her seat, a movement he only noticed because he knew her so well. “Keep going.”

“Well, Madeleine has quite enough on her plate without worrying about local gossip, so naturally I agreed to assist.”

“Naturally,” he agreed, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and his fingers slipping higher. High enough to realise there was no lethal lingerie in sight tonight. He groaned.

“Find something you like?”

He slid from the chaise onto his knees, nudging her thighs apart.

“Please, continue your story. Madeleine didn’t need local gossip…”

The smile she flashed him was bright and loving; he turned his face away to kiss her thighs, his tongue tracing the place where stocking became skin, unwilling to give the game away just yet.

Her fingers laced through his hair, anchoring him to her, encouraging him higher; he resisted slightly, wanting to drag out the anticipation, pull it taut, wanting to put three weeks of distance into this moment.

“Well, the day I arrived a second letter had been delivered. No postmark, but Madeleine’s dog hadn’t alerted to someone at the property.”

He nuzzled her thigh with his cheek, breathing deeply.

“So someone known to the animal?”

“That’s what I presumed,” Phryne agreed, hips thrusting as he kissed the crease of her thigh. He was exquisitely good at this, never teasing too much, never promising pleasure he could not give; her fingers tightened, tugging at his hair until he groaned. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in his touch.

“The case, Miss Fisher,” he scolded, his words muffled by his position; it got the point across though, and if that was how he wanted to play it…

“I asked around town,” she said, laying out the town residents that had struck her as suspicious, trying not to writhe or moan as his tongue found her cunt, talking him through the investigation. Explained the evidence, her voice cracking as his finger slipped deep inside, curving and pressing just the right way. Groaned as she thrust up, desperate for more of him, lost her train of thought, her words tangling around her tongue as he added another finger, twisted.

“Case,” he reminded her hoarsely. “Unless you’re willing to concede defeat.”

That bastard.

“It was the milkman!” she exclaimed, willing herself not to babble, not to cry out from the sheer agony of delaying her climax. “He’d look through windows during deliveries and--oh god, Jack--and he’d tell his brother, who would complete the thefts. Madeleine--” her thighs were shaking as she tugged his hair, her eyes screwed tight; she was so close, so exquisitely close, and he was so relentless, “Madeleine saw the van one night and didn’t realise what she’d seen. They tried to discredit her--mmmmm, mmmmm, please just-- _theytriedtodiscreditherwithblackmailbutit’sfine_.”

She came, back arched and fingernails digging into her palm and a shriek ripping from her throat, a moment that stretched forever and was over in an instant. When it passed he was still between her legs, his cheek on her thigh as he laughed softly.

“I adore you,” he said.

“You’re just saying that because you lost,” she teased back, her grip on his hair loosening so she could stroke his cheek.

He arched an eyebrow.

“Did I? Because the view from here...”

She laughed and pulled at his shoulders, encouraging him back onto the chaise, kissing the taste of herself from his lips. She had missed him. Dropping one hand to his lap, she felt the length of his arousal through his trousers. Marvelous.

“Now Jack,” she said, her mouth a perfect charming moue as she unfastened his braces with one hand, “you must have had a case or two of your own while I was away…”


End file.
